


It's not blood, it's cherries

by lynne_monstr



Category: Leverage
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Cleaning, Dark Humor, Eliot would prefer a fruit basket tbh, Flirting, Gen, Quinn's idea of flirting is to kill Eliot's enemies, discussions of blood, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 13:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr
Summary: Eliot goes to deal with an enemy only to find out it's already been taken care of.





	It's not blood, it's cherries

Eliot surveyed the room and mentally scrapped his plans for the evening. Upturned furniture was scattered all across the hardwood, with clear signs of a fight on every available surface. Long trails of red marred the otherwise pristine cream walls, and to top off the whole mess, there was a body laying unmoving on the floor.

Right in the middle of it all was Quinn, hands raised and glistening red up to the wrists. His usual suit jacket was missing, sleeves meticulously rolled up to his forearms.

How a grown man could look so much like a kid with his hands caught in the cookie jar, Eliot would never know. Well, if the kid was a hitter for hire and the cookie jar was a…on second thought, that was a metaphor best left unexplored.

“You better have a damn good reason for this,” Eliot said.

Slowly, Quinn lowered his hands, careful not to touch his suit, despite that fact it was as much a mess as the walls. “That’s a funny way of saying thank you.”

That gave Eliot pause. He hadn’t come here looking for Quinn, but because his old friend Vance had passed along a warning. There was an enemy with a grudge against Eliot, someone with enough resources to do damage but not enough brains to know not to. Someone who Quinn had just taken out.

Eliot wasn’t sure whether to be touched or annoyed. “Next time you want to do me a solid, try a little less blood.” 

“It’s not blood, it’s cherries.”

Eliot rolled his eyes. His shoulder throbbed where he’d forced open the door and now he had a headache to boot. “Let’s pretend for a minute that I can’t recognize the smell of blood or cherries.”

“I heard that’s an easy mistake to make,” Quinn cut in. He made to rub his palms together but stopped short. A grimace twisted his features, as if just remembering his hands were still gloved in red.

Eliot pinched his nose. He was working with good people, doing good things. Sure, he was still a bad man, but even he didn’t deserve this. “I can see from here that the kitchen in this place is still standing, and I’ve seen what happens to kitchens that’ve been graced with your presence. So don’t give me that cherry crap.”

“How dare you,” Quinn replied, a curl tugging against the edge of his mouth. “I’m a delight in the kitchen.”

The only thing Quinn had a chance of cooking up in the kitchen was a bomb. Maybe some meth. But real food for real people? Eliot had been there and done that and he’d rather face a damn firing squad than subject himself to that brand of horror ever again.

“You burned boxed mac and cheese. In the microwave. The house blew up.”

Quinn bumped their shoulders together as they started cleaning up the scene. “I told you, those cooking times are deceptive. And it got those arms dealers off our backs, so I hardly see why you’re complaining.”

That was a fair point. About the arms dealers, not the cooking times. In truth, Eliot hadn’t been sorry to see Quinn’s entire stock of artificial cheese go up in flames. Still, that didn't excuse shoddy cooking. Or the fact that Eliot now had someone else's blood on his shirt where Quinn had knocked against him.

Eventually, the conversation turned from proper cooking technique to the best way of disposing a body. Quinn wanted to use lye; Eliot wanted to pin the death on an untouchable congressman doing some not-so-nice stuff to a lot of good people.

Three bottles of bleach and a lot of bickering later, they found a compromise.

The very next day, a box appeared on Quinn’s bed inside his latest safehouse. It was addressed to no one and had no return address. (Quinn might have maybe shot a hole in it in his surprise, but no one ever needed to know that.)

Inside was a bag of cherries.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for ereborne on tumblr.
> 
> (One of these days I'll transfer all my tumblr fic over here but in the meantime here we are)


End file.
